


Far Away

by JocelynTorrent



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9093901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JocelynTorrent/pseuds/JocelynTorrent
Summary: Fareeha, a soldier, and Angela, a doctor without borders, find a moment to share





	

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written by someone who wishes to remain anonymous but whom I'd like to give credit too all the same

"Are you alone?"

Angela bites her lip. "No," she says, after a moment.

"Alone enough?"

"...yes."

"I've missed you," Fareeha says, her voice husky. "The things I'd do to you if I was there."

"Like what?" Angela replies as quietly as she can. There's a moment-voices outside of the tent-and she shoves the phone under the pillow and counts the hammering of her heart. When they depart, Angela loosens the collar of her shirt, feeling warm despite the raging wind outside. Fingers toy with the exposed skin of her chest, waiting.

"Why don't you tell me about them?"

"Why don't you tell me what you're doing with your hands first," Fareeha replies.

  
Angela pauses, breathes into the phone. "Nothing," she finally says, coy.

"Liar."

"Are you going to punish me?"

"I should," Fareeha says, and her voice is definitely rougher now, harder. It sends a shiver down Angela's spine. Fareeha's fingers toy with the elastic of her sweats, dipping beneath to graze the hair between her legs. Not yet.

"What," she asks again, voice low, "are you doing...with your hands?"

Angela turns her head to keep her eager sigh from Fareeha's keen ear. Her hand, now, is circling her stomach, teasing her shirt up. "Nothing."

"I guess you do want to be punished."

"If you're so interested in doing nothing, then that's exactly what you'll do until I say otherwise." A pause that makes Angela's heart race. "Move your hand off your stomach."

Fareeha knows her too well, and Angela takes her lip in her teeth as she slides it off and onto the sheets, waiting. The low chuckle that comes through the speaker is enough to know Fareeha knows that as well.

"That's better," Fareeha says, sighing.

"What are you doing then?" Angela asks, fighting to keep her hands on the bedsheets.

"I don't think you deserve to know," Fareeha says, but then she hums, long and deep. "I think you deserve to just lay there and listen."

Angela clenches her thighs, throbbing and wet and she hasn't even really touched herself. "Please," she says.

The catch of breath is heard in Fareeha's ear. The lovely sound of Angela just almost regretting her decision to be obstinate. Fareeha chuckles deep, eyes fluttering closed as fingers dip lower.

"Again."

"Please, Fareeha," nearly a sob so early on in this game. "Please."

The shuffle of sheets on the end of the line has the soldier's eyes snapping open.

"I said don't touch. That includes those glorious thighs of yours. Legs spread," a pause and a rich smile in her voice, "as if I was between them."

Angela curls her toes, willing her legs to part. It's stifling beneath her sheets and the ache turns into a pulsing, body betraying mind into thinking that someone may actually come between her legs to relieve this pressure.

It's done," Angela breathes.

"Good girl. Keep being good, and maybe I'll tell you a bit more about how good this feels."

Angela manages to bite back the keen. Just barely. Fareeha's fingers dip lower and she moans, letting the feeling sink in. She's going to stretch this out. At least in Angela's case.

"Touch your breasts," Fareeha says, "One hand only. I want you to grab them the way I do."

Angela is quick to obey, using her right hand to push her shirt up all the way, to cup her breast and squeeze, moaning softly at the sensation. Her fingers trail towards a nipple.

"Stop."

"Please," Angela whines, using her nails to trail around her nipple, like Fareeha did whenever she was teasing. She meant it to dampen the ache, but it only made it worse.

"Use your other hand," Fareeha says, her own free hand trailing along her stomach, towards her breasts. "Play with them both. Tell me how it feels."

Angela shifts, pinning the phone between her shoulder and her ear. She grabs both of her breasts, eyes closed to furiously imagine Fareeha's large, dark hands instead. Rolling and teasing each nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Fareeha sighs at the subtle sounds of Angela's pleasure, gripping her own breast to pinch sharply, as she likes. "So sensitive," she coos into the phone.

Angela nods in spite of herself, a whimper escaping before she speaks. "Th-they are. They--it feels so good. But I need more. please."

"No."

The set line of her tone makes Angela writhe on the bed. Her hands continue to tease her breasts as instructed, but it only makes the burning between her legs sharper. Hips buck against nothing, wetness dripping down between her thighs and onto the bed. Wetness that, if Fareeha were here, would be cleaned up in no time.   
"Pl--

"I said no," Fareeha commands, fingers dipping lower and rising back up. "Listen, instead, to what I can do that you can't. Because you wanted to be coy."

"Fareeha--

Light streams into the tent when the flap opens abruptly and it's all Angela can do to turn on her side, legs clamped shut and heart hammering with more than just lust when a voice calls out, "Doctor Ziegler? Are you awake?"

Angela is silent, and Fareeha is silent too, for a moment.

"Why did you stop touching your breasts?" hums in Angela's alert ears.

"Fareeha, please," Angela whispers, trying her best to feign sleep.

"She's clearly asleep," someone else says--a colleague, from Spain. Not that Angela gave a fuck at the moment. "Let the poor woman alone; she just completed a 12 hour shift."

"Pinch your nipples," Fareeha says, groaning into the phone. She knows what Angela looks like, embarrassed and wanting and shameful. "The way I do."

Angela does so, as best she can with the hand squashed between the bed and her body. She tries not to move, biting her lip, her face flushed with heat. There's as much thrill as there is fear, the burn of her fingers against her sensitive nipples as she fights her own moans. The two outside her tent are a mere two feet away.

"I heard talking though, at least I think I did? Oh well, I guess it can wait until morning."

There's a grunt from the other, and the flap closes. Angela lets out a gasp she's been holding, squirming and playing with both of her nipples.

"That was mean," Angela says.

"That was hot," Fareeha replies, rubbing slow circles around her clit. "I bet you're dripping by now."

"Fareeha..."

  
"Trying to keep quiet," Fareeha says, arching off the bed. "I'm touching myself right now, imagining you, trying to be silent with your colleagues so close. What would they say? If they had caught you?"

"This is cruel," Angela moans, her hand skirting down her stomach against her will. God she hopes Fareeha doesn't--

"Where are your hands? They better still be on your breasts."

Angela's hand snaps up as if Fareeha had grabbed it herself. She lets out a frustrated groan as she pinches hard on her nipples. The pain takes some of the edge off, and serves her right for playing when she could have been getting off. Fareeha chuckles on the other end of the line. She heard the sharp gasp of pain and imagines Angela fisting both of her ample breasts, nipples hard and straining between pale fingers. She wishes she could be there, to ease some of the ache with her tongue. Swirl a hard nipple around her mouth to watch Angela's back arch off the bed.

"Punishing yourself? My, you must be very sorry." Fareeha's finger circles harder and, between the wind and the clamor outside, Angela swears she can hear the slick sound of Fareeha's efforts.

"Tell me how wet you are," Fareeha commands. "Nothing more," bitten out with authority.

Angela gives a ragged sigh and sits back up, legs spreading as she leans back and lets one hand sink lower. It itches to touch, to circle, to plunge, but Fareeha would somehow know if she deviated. So she slides her middle finger between her legs and groans, surprised at just how much she finds.

"Tell me," Fareeha reminds after a moment.

"I don't--soaked. I don't think I've ever been this wet."

"Fuck," Fareeha grunts out, circling her entrance and teasing inside to the first knuckle. "Wet enough to take three of my fingers?"

Angela scoffs in spite of her herself, nearly delirious at this point, deprived and wanting and desperate. "Easily. Likely more."

"Are you giving me attitude?" Fareeha snaps, her voice wavering just a little, as she slides another finger inside herself. She growls, "Hands on your inner thighs."

Angela groans, but does as she says. Palms flat on her thighs, so close to what she wants, but not nearly close enough. Her hips twitch, pushing towards her hands, begging them towards where every part of her wants. Fareeha slips in a third finger, and groans so loud she has to stop and listen for a second. She has no shame, but she doesn't want anyone but Angela and herself part of this moment. Or any moment really.

  
"Run your nails along through thighs," Fareeha says. "Tease yourself. Know that I wouldn't be so gentle, if I was there."

  
Angela lets her nails rake up her thighs, gasping at the sting. She runs her palms the other way, soothing the red marks. She repeats it, back arching off the bed at every pass a little more. They're both moaning now, panting heavily into the phone.

"Fareeha, please," Angela begs, close to her breaking point.

Angela's thighs burn and twitch with her efforts, hips trembling and seeking what she keeps denying herself. What Fareeha keeps denying her. Across an ocean, she hears Fareeha moaning and panting into the phone, the subtle shift of sheets and a faint hint of wet smacking. She knows that Fareeha is fucking herself. Is thrusting deep and curling and occasionally flicking her clit. It's what Fareeha loves, what she would do to her if she was there. And the fact that Fareeha gets her pleasure while she suffers is only mildly tempered by the sounds Fareeha makes. Sounds that travel up her spine and seed in her chest and between her legs, heightening her arousal and everything related.

"I'm going crazy," she chokes out, eyes closed and hands circling her inner thighs, waiting.

"Crazy for me?" Fareeha purrs.   
Angela nods, swallowing thickly.

"Yes. For you. Your touch, the sounds you're making. God, I wish I could be your fingers."

Satisfied, the smile is evident in Fareeha's voice when she speaks again. "Touch yourself."

Angela doesnt hesitate. She doesnt ease into it. She doesn't think. She slides three. fingers in and groans loudly at the stretch, the relief, and damn whoever hears her now.

"Fareeha," Angela says, moaning and arching off the bed. There's going to be a mess to hide in the morning. "Oh."

"You like that?" Fareeha asks, increasing her own pace. "How many fingers? I bet three-I bet you couldnt wait, just stuffed yourself full--"

"Fareeha-yes! Three-I used three."

"Fuck," Fareeha says, taking a long drag of air. "You needy girl. Maybe I should punish you for that."

"Please, no," Angela says, her hips rolling. Her free hand claws into the skin of her stomach, tries desperately to keep her lower body still. "Please. I need--"

"I know what you need," Fareeha replies, voice like gravel. She slows her fingers, so close to the edge herself. She wants to hear Angela muffle her scream as they both come. "You need my tongue, hot on your clit. My fingers, curled inside you."

Angela whimpers, her fingers moving faster, toes curling against the sheets.

"You need my body against yours, holding you down, making sure you cant squirm away," Fareeha pants heavy, pleasure curling in her stomach like a loaded spring. "You need your ass in the air, red and swollen from my palm."

"God, Fareeha," Angela chokes out.

"You need teeth along your neck, down your spine. And you--fuck, you need it so fucking hard, don't you?" Fareeha's fingers have slowed but not ceased, building and burning tight, so close to snapping. And judging by Angela's quick, whimpering pants, she's nearly there, too. The image is too much. Angela groans and rolls over, phone falling next to her mouth as pulls her knees up, ass in the air, and imagines Fareeha behind her, with her burning palm and sharp canines, long, long fingers fucking and curling so hard that pleasure and pain combine into something wordless. Something only felt in the deep dark part of her core.

"You need to come," Fareeha says with a snarl.

"Yes!"

Voices perk up outside Angela's tent, curious, suspicious. She does not care. Only cares about Fareeha's voice in her ear and the command she sits on, waiting for that pitch perfect moment where Angela waivers on sanity and control.

Fareeha pants into the phone, lets Angela hear her own desperation. Thrusts her fingers in as far as she can to moan out, "Come."

Angela's body quakes, fingers thrusting furiously as finally, finally the taut string Fareeha has so expertly wound snaps. She bites into her pillow, screams into the thin mattress of her cot, feels her orgasm flooding out against her fingers and cares nothing about the murmured questions outside of her tent. Because all there is, all there has been since this started, is Fareeha. Fareeha who is coming as well, grunting and thrusting, always quieter than Angela but just as fierce. She imagines Fareeha behind her, fucking her, taking her over and over again and it sends pulse after pulse of her orgasm through her body. The image is so strong, coupled with her voice in her ear begging her name and swearing and grunting.

The coiled spring in Fareeha's belly has snapped, launched into her senses and sent them spiraling. Her weak, metal bed creams as she grinds down on her fingers, wrist aching from trying to get deeper and deeper. She cans see Angela clearly now. Pale, flushed face, untamed starlight hair, red lips swollen and parted as they beg and beg for more they could not possibly take. Those thick, thick thighs around her face, her hips, bucking and grinding with a natural, sexy desire. Breasts mottled from Fareeha's efforts, scratched and purplish bouncing and heaving with each breath and only her mouth can still them, savor that sweet skin that she's been months without. She sees it clearly and comes over and over again, what seems like hours on the phone as they simply moan and writhe together, relying on their imaginations to bring them together. Until finally, everything goes numb or all too sensitive.

Ochre eyes open to her barracks, neatly stacked lines of soldiers snoring. They ship out tomorrow. Blue eyes open to a tent, fighting against the harsh winds of a disaster while colleagues struggle outside to save lives. Continents apart. Fareeha sighs, chest heaving as she clings to the phone and curls her body around itself.

"Fuck, Angela, if I was there..."

"I know," Angela breathes, eyes half lidded as she slides her fingers out and runs them along the sheets. Her ass is still in the air, unable to move from this well loved position. Her body tremors from powerful aftershocks that make her moan and writhe but other than that she's boneless. When she can feel again, she will rise and answer the concern that interrupted her, try to save more lives, and calculate the time of Fareeha's departure.

"I know. Me too."

  
  



End file.
